~o~

If she hadn't eaten in however many hours, she might've told Antonin to take a long walk off a short cliff, or something like that. Though he was already so mad at her she doubted he would control him temper. Oh she didn't want to make her 'masters' supper for him, Merlin forbid! How dare she disrupt the status quo!

How badly she wanted to go out there and tell him how angry she was at him too. That she felt suffocated and trapped and oppressed and so so so confused.

Though if she did argue with him further, the brunette felt certain something or other would happen to escalate the situation.

Antonin was always like a pot nearly at the boiling point. Though his smirks sometimes fooled you to think he was level-headed, he certainly was not.

Yet who cared if she did push this Death Eater's buttons to the breaking point? What would he do?

Maybe in all the madness and confusion, Antonin might actually forget his wand and she could take control over her life back. Then maybe even use his wand on him...hmmm. There were so many spells she had mastered that she could use to on Antonin to show him that women could fight and that she wasn't just eye-candy for his stupid misogynist amusement.

Hermione smirked to herself at one day possibly getting revenge on Antonin for everything he had put her through...and most especially for making her catch feelings for him. This stupid stupid feeling she had for him, like the sickest butterflies, whenever she met the eyes of her captor.

Love or this horrible feeling of constant lust for him, was truly the worst feeling in the world.

'It does not bode well to love your enemies, Hermione,' she reminded herself. 'This is still a war...Even if I, if I feel...god damn it!'

However butterflies weren't the only thing wrong with her stomach. Her stomach felt so empty, with acid lapping around pointlessly, that she could not bear it any longer.

'I have to do something.'

Hermione stared down at her idle bored hands. A thought occurred to her. What if she convinced Antonin that she could only cook if she had a wand? It was true enough that she was useless in the kitchen save if she had a wand to whip up a delicious meal.

Then she groaned at the idea. 'Who am I kidding? Not likely he's falling for that.'

She knew Antonin well enough by now to know he would never fall for such a ploy. Antonin was many things, but he wasn't stupid. Just a pig. He'd sooner imperio her to cook than trust her with his wand. Yet he hadn't imperiused her or violated her freewill once...so what gives? Was he really so angry at her over her not cooking? Didn't he realize all the worst things he had done to her?

She pushed open the bedroom door and casually marched to the kitchen. Antonin was not there.

She turned around to the living room and saw he was glumly seated in his yak horn chair, staring at the dying flames in the fireplace. A glass and a bottle of liquor were cradled in his large hands.

So damn childish.

Hermione couldn't believe this man was older than her. He certainly did not act more mature.

She felt an unnecessary amount of anger, and perhaps a tiny bit of concern, wave over her.

If there was one thing she had learned in the past two days, the only thing worst than Antonin Dolohov, was a drunk Antonin Dolohov.

"Oh great, you're just going to drink yourself into a stupor again?" she asked with raised brows.

"V'what else is there to do than drink? There v'is certainly nothing to eat!" He scowled at her and took another swig from the glass.

"That is enough. I'm not going to allow you to get drunk again." She stood before him almost maternally and motioned for him to handover the bottle and glass.

Antonin regarded her with bitter eyes. "Vit is not your place, Englishwoman, to tell a man v'when or v'when not to drink!" With that said, he haughtily took another large sip directly from the bottle to annoy her further while maintaining eye contact with her.

Something inside her broke. Consequences be damned. She had a temper too. She wasn't about to spend another night terrified with a drunk man.

Hermione didn't skip a beat, and yanked the bottle out of his hands with all the strength she could muster, sending the bottle crashing to the floor. The liquor quickly seeped into the rug, lost forever.

Antonin raised his hand threateningly in the air. "I v'warn v'you, little ptitsa, v'you are getting vay out of line!"

"Good! I hope I'm making you mad, because this is how I am and as you can see, I'd make a very unpleasant wife! In fact, I'd take delight in making your life as miserable as possible, so you had better just let me go and get this whole marriage nonsense thing out of your mind." She stomped her foot on the ground for emphasis, very proud of her little speech and the effect she was having on disturbing Antonin's peace. "I don't cook," she yelled and realized her voice was trembling. "I don't clean and I certainly don't submit to any man, so don't expect sex, ever!"

At that precise moment, Antonin snapped and he grabbed her by the shirt and pulled her roughly over to him. "V'you will not win this war, v'you Englishwoman!"

There were nearly tears in her eyes. Yet she felt liberated finally telling this pig where his place was. She knew her place. It was above him, not beneath him. He wouldn't succeed in trying to brainwash her otherwise. "I am not some play-thing, Antonin. I won't do what you ask of me!"

"Oh v'you don't think so?"

"No I don't! And I won't!"

He grinned wickedly down at her.

Her stomach dropped as she realized she had finally pushed his temper, aided by vodka, too far. No, no, no, no. Panic set in. She attempted to get away from him but his iron grip on her was inescapable. He held her close as he stared at her, seemingly, regarding her with complete disgust.

"Get on v'your knees, now," he instructed, his Russian accent thicker than ever. His eyes were so dark she wondered if there was any soul left in them.

"I will not," she spat. Yet she yelped in pain as he forcibly pushed her down onto her knees in front of the yak chair where he sat. Her hair hurt from where it had snagged on his grip on her shoulders. She tried not to show fear though she felt dizzy and confused and almost shaking.

He pointed to his boots. "Polish my shoes, ptitsa!"

"NO!" What kind of request was that? He could do it his damn self using a spell in a few seconds. "No," she repeated more firmly.

Antonin grabbed her by the flimsy shirt she wore and met her eye.

They stared at each other wordlessly for a few seconds, as if both considering if they were really taking this route.

Hermione firmed her jaw. While Antonin licked at his lips.

She hated him, she hated him, she hated. How could she ever think she loved this bastard for even a moment.

"V'You v'will polish my shoes or you polish something else." He lowered his eyes threateningly. "Now start."

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him to show how pissed off she was, but then she lowered her hands to his shoes. She really didn't want this to escalate any further into something even more ghastly.

Yet as she regarded his boots, she looked back up at him in confusion. "I don't have polish or a cloth. How am I going to..uhm?"

Antonin grinned and at this point she saw how wicked his smile was. How cruel he could turn in one moment to another when he lost his temper.

"V'use your shirt to polish and spit in your hand for polish," he instructed.

She swallowed the bile in her throat and the hunger of not having eaten for hours. "I-I can't, this shirt doesn't reach far enough."

"Take it v'off and use as a rag," Antonin instructed her briskly, a smirk threatening to pull at the corners of his mouth.

No, hell no. The bastard!

She tried to stand back up again off her knees and get away from him but his heavy hand clamped down on her shoulders again to hold her in place.

She met his dark eyes again and wondered what the hell she had gotten into. Why hadn't she just ignored him and stayed in the room. Her eyes felt wide
and blind sighted like a deer in headlights. Bloody hell, maybe she should have just cooked him something horrible tasting. Anything than being on her knees undignified like this before a Death Eater.

"I can't...Please." She attempted to make her eyes as sad and doe-eyed as possible, hoping to reach some semblance of his humanity to spare her this humiliating game of his.

Antonin's eyes were hardened however, steely cold, as if he wanted to punish her for screaming at him and discouraging his plans to keep her.

"Take it v'off," he repeated.

~o~

a/n: Thanks and stay tuned for more. Reviews make me so happy, thanks to everyone that reviewed the last chapter :)

I will update again when or if we can get to 110 reviews :) tho i'm just so happy we are about to get to 100 :) :) thank u